you?’
‘Oh. Good evening, or is it good morning, sir? It’s John Weightman. Is everything all right?’
Angel was pleased. He knew the constable very well indeed. He was one of the oldest and was also considered to be one of the most reliable men on Bromersley force.
‘Yes, fine, John.’
‘Something urgent on, sir?’
‘Not exactly urgent. No. A development, you could say, just come to a head,’ Angel said, making for the shop door. ‘Is it locked?’
‘No sir.’
‘I need some light. Follow me inside and bring your torch.’
Weightman shone the powerful flashlight as Angel pushed open the glass door. Everything was black. The water had drained away from the floor, leaving burnt linoleum and scorched paintwork.
Angel wrinkled his nose. There was a fusty smell. Reminded him of latrines in Strangeways that were discovered to be bunged up with old pin-ups of Heather Mills.
He picked his way to the place under the stairs that Taylor had described to him. The hinged L-shaped partition was now standing an inch or so from the wall. Angel put his hands round the edges of the panel and pulled the partition away. It swung towards him on its hinges to reveal its secret.
‘Shine your torch on here, John,’ Angel said, looking at the green-painted safe with its copper-coloured identity tag, brass handle and keyholes.
‘Ooo. Didn’t know that was there.’
‘Castle Mark II. You won’t come across many of those,’ Angel said, looking for the two keyholes. He found them easily enough. They were made in a coppery-looking metal, vertically set, one above the other and about six inches apart.
He pulled the keys out of his pocket. ‘Shine your light on these, John,’ he said.
‘My goodness, sir. Never seen keys that long.’
‘They’ll go right into the metal casing. Prevents jellymen and lockpicks alike.’
Angel looked to see if there was any indication as to which key was for which keyhole. Near the flat Castle logo on the shank of one key was stamped a letter U, and on the other in the same place, the letter L. Upper and lower, he guessed. He inserted the keys, one at a time, pushed them all the way in, leaving only an inch and the finger grip with the logo on it sticking out, and then turned them. They each made a satisfying clunk. He reached out for the brass handle, pressed it down, pulled it towards him and the heavy safe door silently opened.
‘Let me borrow your torch, John.’
Angel peered eagerly into the safe. It was ram-jammed full, packed as tightly and neatly as a watch.
There were three shelves. The top shelf was stuffed with paper money, twenty pound notes in elastic bands, they seemed to be. The paper money extended to the back of the safe, as far as he could see. There must have been many thousands of pounds there.
‘Good heavens!’ Weightman said with a whistle. ‘Aladdin’s cave!’
‘Aye. Careful not to touch anything inside the safe, John. SOCO have to do their stuff there yet.’
He shone the torch on the middle shelf. This was stuffed tightly with sixty or more small cardboard boxes; on the end of each box was a neat handwritten label. He could read: diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls, opals, turquoise, amber, 9 ct jump rings, 18 ct chain, 18 ct jump rings and so on. On the floor of the safe, Angel could make out the diamond laden tips of a tiara half-wrapped with what seemed to be a ginger wig, on top of which was a plastic mask.
Angel felt a warm glow in his chest; a tremor of excitement made his hands shake briefly and his heart began to thump. This was quite a coup.
‘Peter Wolff must have been the Fox, John.’
‘The Fox? Really, sir? The wig maker?’
‘There’s his wig and mask and—’
‘Wow! Thank goodness, sir,’ the big man replied smiling. ‘That’s an end to that. Whatever will the papers write about now?’
Angel stood back from the safe, sighed, reluctantly closed it, locked it and withdrew both keys.
CHAPTER NINE
----
A ngel pulled out
‘Oh. Good evening, or is it good morning, sir? It’s John Weightman. Is everything all right?’
Angel was pleased. He knew the constable very well indeed. He was one of the oldest and was also considered to be one of the most reliable men on Bromersley force.
‘Yes, fine, John.’
‘Something urgent on, sir?’
‘Not exactly urgent. No. A development, you could say, just come to a head,’ Angel said, making for the shop door. ‘Is it locked?’
‘No sir.’
‘I need some light. Follow me inside and bring your torch.’
Weightman shone the powerful flashlight as Angel pushed open the glass door. Everything was black. The water had drained away from the floor, leaving burnt linoleum and scorched paintwork.
Angel wrinkled his nose. There was a fusty smell. Reminded him of latrines in Strangeways that were discovered to be bunged up with old pin-ups of Heather Mills.
He picked his way to the place under the stairs that Taylor had described to him. The hinged L-shaped partition was now standing an inch or so from the wall. Angel put his hands round the edges of the panel and pulled the partition away. It swung towards him on its hinges to reveal its secret.
‘Shine your torch on here, John,’ Angel said, looking at the green-painted safe with its copper-coloured identity tag, brass handle and keyholes.
‘Ooo. Didn’t know that was there.’
‘Castle Mark II. You won’t come across many of those,’ Angel said, looking for the two keyholes. He found them easily enough. They were made in a coppery-looking metal, vertically set, one above the other and about six inches apart.
He pulled the keys out of his pocket. ‘Shine your light on these, John,’ he said.
‘My goodness, sir. Never seen keys that long.’
‘They’ll go right into the metal casing. Prevents jellymen and lockpicks alike.’
Angel looked to see if there was any indication as to which key was for which keyhole. Near the flat Castle logo on the shank of one key was stamped a letter U, and on the other in the same place, the letter L. Upper and lower, he guessed. He inserted the keys, one at a time, pushed them all the way in, leaving only an inch and the finger grip with the logo on it sticking out, and then turned them. They each made a satisfying clunk. He reached out for the brass handle, pressed it down, pulled it towards him and the heavy safe door silently opened.
‘Let me borrow your torch, John.’
Angel peered eagerly into the safe. It was ram-jammed full, packed as tightly and neatly as a watch.
There were three shelves. The top shelf was stuffed with paper money, twenty pound notes in elastic bands, they seemed to be. The paper money extended to the back of the safe, as far as he could see. There must have been many thousands of pounds there.
‘Good heavens!’ Weightman said with a whistle. ‘Aladdin’s cave!’
‘Aye. Careful not to touch anything inside the safe, John. SOCO have to do their stuff there yet.’
He shone the torch on the middle shelf. This was stuffed tightly with sixty or more small cardboard boxes; on the end of each box was a neat handwritten label. He could read: diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls, opals, turquoise, amber, 9 ct jump rings, 18 ct chain, 18 ct jump rings and so on. On the floor of the safe, Angel could make out the diamond laden tips of a tiara half-wrapped with what seemed to be a ginger wig, on top of which was a plastic mask.
Angel felt a warm glow in his chest; a tremor of excitement made his hands shake briefly and his heart began to thump. This was quite a coup.
‘Peter Wolff must have been the Fox, John.’
‘The Fox? Really, sir? The wig maker?’
‘There’s his wig and mask and—’
‘Wow! Thank goodness, sir,’ the big man replied smiling. ‘That’s an end to that. Whatever will the papers write about now?’
Angel stood back from the safe, sighed, reluctantly closed it, locked it and withdrew both keys.
CHAPTER NINE
----
A ngel pulled out
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